your hand in mine, together we fly
by bookstvnerdlove
Summary: modern au. she's just a small town deputy in the sheriff's department and he's the new guy in town, trying to escape his past.


**your hand in mine, together we fly**

_part one of two_

_disclaimer: own nothing, etc. etc._

* * *

**1. **

Emma was having one of those days, the kind where you wake up in the morning and you just have this gut feeling, the one that says _stay in bed all day_ and _nothing good comes from being awake right now. _It was the kind of day that started awkward; waking up in bed with a stiff neck, limbs flung about, and trying to forget her dream about the cute fisherman she met the other week when he filed a report at the station for a missing bike.

She keeps bumping into him – accidentally, of course – at the diner in the mornings, her with the early shifts at the station and him arriving at the diner with the catch of the day. Even though he is new to town, she wonders exactly how it was she missed noticing him around before the aforementioned bike theft. With his permanent sex hair and blue-blue eyes, and always with the scruff that makes her think about what it would feel like against her skin with his delicious accent whispering all kinds of naughty words to her.

Later that day she thinks, _I should have listened, _with disaster after disaster befalling the moment, however, she knows that she has to go to work and her body already craves a hit of caffeine from the diner. (And if she gets a glimpse of Captain Jones along the way, so be it.) She rubs her hands across her face and groans dramatically, before rolling herself out of bed and starting the shower. It's winter and she's freezing, so she lets the hot water steam her bathroom before she hops in.

It's on her way to the car that everything goes to shit. She slips on a patch of black ice on the sidewalk. In her surprise (and pain, oh God, the pain shooting down her leg) she sits on the ground for a full five minutes, taking off her boots and feeling her ankles to make sure nothing is twisted and swelling.

Satisfied that she is able to walk without injuring herself further, she makes her way to her car only to find one of her tires completely flat.

It's not a long walk to the sheriff's station (she lives in a town with only one stoplight, after all) but she still grumbles along her way, knowing that she won't have enough time for coffee at the diner (and thus, no handsome captain plus the added bonus of terrible station coffee). She's walking gingerly down the sidewalks, scanning for more patches of ice, when the next disaster strikes.

She's on the ground again, before she even realizes what happened, and this time she can feel a hot splash of _something_ on her legs. Legs that, she notices eventually, are wrapped up in Dr. Hopper's dog leash while his coffee cup is on the ground, the liquid pooling dangerously close to her jeans. The dalmatian barks happily, unaware of the mess he's made while Archie apologizes approximately twenty times in a row.

Eventually she disentangles from the leash and makes her way to the station. At this point, she expects the city building to be on fire by the time she arrives, but luckily everything is quiet as she tosses her jacket on her chair and leans against the desk, head in hands, taking a moment before she tackles the blinking red light on her phone signaling messages.

"Having a rough day, love?"

A voice startles her from her position, and when she looks up, she's faced with Killian Jones, fisherman, new guy in town, and the current star of her frustrating (and delightful) dreams the past week.

He has a half-grin on his face and one brow is arched with question as he holds out a steaming cup in her direction. "I noticed you weren't at the diner this morning. Thought you might be missing your morning fix."

She watches as his eyes flicker up and down, taking in her disheveled appearance. He walks over to where she's still leaning against her desk and hands over a to-go mug. She lifts the plastic lid and can smell the fresh brew.

Her insides completely melt and she sighs in relief. "You have no idea how much I needed this today," she thanks him with a wide smile.

The way that his eyes light up in return makes her think that maybe, just maybe, her day is looking up.

.

Killian Jones had never felt more thankful to be on the receiving end of grand theft bicycle as he had a couple weeks ago. Sure, it was a pain walking everywhere, as the bike had been his main form of transport since moving – across the pond, as his fellow Brits liked to say. (Because, apparently, small towns could still feel large when you have an apartment overlooking the harbor and an appointment clear on the other end of town.)

In the end, it had only been a cheap old thing, for use while he waited on the shipment carrying his real bike. His glorious restored motorcycle that his brother Liam had painstakingly worked inch by inch over the years, as well as the proper documentation allowing him to drive in Maine. He missed his bike – the real one – his last tether to his brother, one that Liam's fiancé had insisted that he have, even though it had been left to her. (_Take it, _she'd said as he stood on her doorstep, too much a coward to even enter into the home where his brother had lived. _He was your brother._)

He hadn't ridden it for the whole year he'd spent – attending therapy for his hand, in the end the severed nerves never to recover, his hand forever constricted – and he'd left it with her when he threw everything away and crossed over to the states at the whim of Eddie's request. (_You'll love Maine, _he'd said, _and the work is honest._) Weeks later he had called her, waking her up in the middle of the night, to ask her to please send it to him and he'd cover the expenses.

He had noticed the pretty blonde straight off. Not realizing she worked with the sheriff's department at first, as she failed to wear the uniform he expected of her. (One of the many failings, he imagines, of television and expecting life to be exactly as how it is presented.) He sometimes watched her in the mornings, in the first weeks, her eyes never catching his presence in along the bar, chatting with Granny Lucas, trying (and failing) to pay her for his morning coffee. (_You're a dear boy and we haven't had such good offerings since before Eddie took you on _she would say as she calmly handed his bills back to her, crisp and unused.)

He waited patiently for weeks, hoping that she would turn her head, just enough, and her eyes would meet his. However, for weeks she would come and go, in almost the exact same manner every day. Granny or Ruby would have a to-go mug waiting for her, filled to the brim with coffee and just a splash of cream – no sugars. She would rush into the diner, her car running out front – an old yellow bug that had seen better days and sputtered loudly as she grabbed her mug and left a bill and some change on the counter. She always had a smile for the ladies behind the counter, and it was full of such warmth that he marveled at it, feeling a pull in the pit of his stomach.

It amazed him, the way he felt so instantly drawn to her. It had been the same with Milah, though comparisons between the two (when his brain – _bad brain_ – went down that path) stopped there. It still created a twinge, an ache, in his heart when he thought about Milah, the way her hair curled down her back, the way his name looked inked into her skin so permanent and indelible a mark. And it was not fair to this new, mystery, woman to link them together in his mind. Still he marveled at how – even though she had yet to see his face – his body could feel such a pull towards hers.

So the day that he came back from his last run, to the harbor where Eddie was docking the boat for the afternoon, to find his bike missing ended up being one of the most providential moments of his life. He arrived at the station in a fury, of course, grumbling to the poor woman at the front desk of the city building, asking as politely as one can through gritted teeth, where exactly the law could be found. His black mood almost immediately evaporating when he saw _her_, blonde goddess from the diner, seated at a desk with her leather jacket slung across the surface and a pen between her teeth as she typed furiously on the keyboard in front of her.

After that day, she noticed him in the diner. She never said hello, never met his eyes, but he could still feel her regard in small glances snuck in his direction when he was occupied by Granny, or Leroy, or one of the other patrons. So when she didn't show one morning, her coffee waiting on the counter – so lonely, it seemed to him – he took advantage.

Swiping the mug and walking rapidly to the door, he gave Ruby a wink and lifted the drink as a salute. Ruby's grin in return was enough to convince him this was the right move, leading him to the receiving end of her wide grin and a promise repay the favor the next day.

(Moments later, he curses himself for not asking for a real date – or even her number. But the anticipation curling around his heart, warming him as he pulls his coat tighter against the chills of winter is enough, he decides. Besides, there's always tomorrow.)

.

Emma's walking down the street with Henry when she hears the rumble of a motorcycle, growling low before rolling to a stop, shockingly, immediately in front of her apartment building. Wondering who that could be, she speeds up, lengthening her stride with Henry at her heels, until the rider takes off his helmet to reveal messy dark hair, sticking up in every which way, and a grin across his lips.

She pauses in her tracks for a moment to watch him, carefully, and maybe to admire him just a bit. Her shifts at the station had fluctuated in recent weeks, ever since the recent increase in small petty thefts across town. She had not seen him in the diner recently and much to her surprise, she realized that she rather missed his presence. She can see a hint of the wool sweater he's wearing, the high neck peeking out of his leather jacket, and even though the coldest days of winter have passed, the wind still cold enough that his cheeks are flushed and his eyes bright.

If Henry were not standing right next to her, she'd probably swoon. (If she were the swooning type, that is.)

"Hey! Cool bike!" Henry exclaims, waving at Killian. Then, whispering to Emma, "That's your date, right? You probably get to ride that, lucky!"

He wiggles his eyebrows at her with that wide, silly grin of his, and she is overwhelmed – as always – at his enthusiasm and pure _joy._

"Yeah, kid. Hey, let me tell him to wait five minutes and I'll walk you over to your mother's," she says, ruffling his hair briefly, only allowing it for a few seconds before he squirms away from her reach.

With a slight pang of disappointment, she has to remember that he is thirteen now, and apparently too old for such a casual touch. _Thirteen_. It makes her heart ache to think about

"No need," he yells as he takes off running, "I'm pretty sure I can make it five more blocks on my own. Bye, Emma!"

"Bye, kid!" She shouts, because he's already sprinted off and is almost around the corner.

By the way that Killian's eyes snap to hers, she knows that he's heard and that he's probably wondering right about now exactly who Henry is. This information, of course, is terrible first date material. Maybe fifth date. _Maybe_. If he lasts that long.

_Pessimist_, she hears Ruby's voice in her brain, _give him a chance. _The exact words, and same wry tone that plays in her thoughts, that her friend used when chastising her two days ago. Going on and on about making the poor man wait three weeks before even giving him her phone number – let alone agreeing to a date and how she should be ashamed of herself when clearly she was as smitten as he. (While true, she still made him wait another week after his first phone call before agreeing to anything.)

Ruby's encouragement in her head, she smiles at him, closing the distance between them quickly, until she is standing right in front of him – his hand outstretched with a helmet for her.

"Hi," she says, as she takes the helmet from him and he leans in bit further until he brushes a small ghost of a kiss on her cheek in greeting.

"Hi," he says, and she swears that it almost sounds shy, which his strange because his body is _so close_ to hers and she can feel her nerves begin to tingle with awareness.

There's no way that he could miss the way the air becomes charged between them. _Right? _It can't be just _her _feeling so edgy and at this nearness._ Right_?

This uncertainty is exactly why she stopped dating a while back – after her thing with August just…fizzled. Couple her job with the fact that she has a sort-of, but not-quite, shared son with the Mayor and her love life pretty much became stagnant the moment she decided to stay in Storybrooke.

"So," he says, breaking through her thoughts as he puts his hand on the seat of his motorcycle, "You ready for an adventure, love?"

At least she knows the answer to that question, for sure, as her blood pumps in excitement, "God, yes. It's been forever since I've been on a bike."

"Bad boy past?" He asks with an arch of his brow.

She laughs, "Bad _everything_ past," she continues as she pulls the helmet on, "But I love the rush. So where are we headed?"

She can see the questions arise in his eyes and between that admission and Henry, she knows that he's probably going to want to hear _something_ true. She only hopes that she has enough courage to answer when he asks.

For the moment, though, he's quiet, as he simply readies himself for the ride and throws his leg over the bike, looking over his shoulder one last time before putting his helmet on, "That'd be a surprise, love. Hop on."

So she does, and they're soon on the way, speeding down the road. Maybe a little faster than necessary – or legal – but she's left the badge at home for the night, so she wraps her arms around him as tight as possible and revels in the way the air rushing against her makes her heart race.

.

Ruby leans over the counter and slides a steaming mug of coffee in front of him and says, "Tell me your troubles, sailor." She gives him a wink and an exaggerated toss of her hair as she makes her way down the bar to place a pile of pancakes in front of the librarian, Ms. French, before making her way back to his lonely perch at the counter.

He'd been convinced that his first date with Emma went well. In fact, he knows that it went well because he remembers the way she leaned into him on his bike, neither hesitant nor shy, pressing her body flush against his, her arms tight around his waist. He can still feel the way her heart beat a rapid staccato against his back and how, when he placed the bike into park, she slid her leg over it gracefully, giving him a heated look as she handed the helmet back to him, cheeks pink and flushed, eyelashes fluttering.

He remembers her joy and surprise at the picnic in the abandoned greenhouse overlooking the harbor, set on a high perch of land that he's been saving for since he arrived in town. (He didn't tell her that he'd yet to make the purchase yet, sheriff and all that. Though somehow he supposes she would mind too much, given the way she sat close to him on the tapestry, legs curled beneath her, laughing with him as they drank red wine from plastic cups and sipped soup out of a metal thermos.) He especially remembers the way she leaned into him at the end of the night, her body creating a magnetic pull within his, the way his fingers tugged at the loops of her jeans and how her eyes flared with that same heat from earlier, right before their lips met.

It's been weeks since their date, the flickers of anticipation that he held at the end of the night (hoping for another date, and another and another) bleeding into worry as he's sensed a retreat in Emma.

It's not that they've seen less of each other. She still says hello, slanting her eyes across the diner in the mornings with a twitch of her lips, brushing behind him as she makes her way out the door, her hand trailing, oh so gently, across this back and shoulders. He's brought her lunch at the station, watching as she runs her fingers through her hair while she's on the phone, explaining to Leroy the ins and outs of public intoxication charges, or dealing with petty vandals and shop owners on main street. When she notices him in the doorway, she always gives him a smile and her eyes alight with pleasure.

(She calls him sometimes, late at night. Her voice low and sultry as she describes in excruciating detail how much she thinks about him - thinks about his hands traveling along her body, thinks about his lips tracing her skin, thinks about what she would do to him. She makes his heart race and his hands restless for her presence so that he can touch and taste and take.)

It's just that when he asked about the kid, Henry, her eyes shuttered and he could no longer read her and when he pressed, her back went completely straight as she evaded the question with some babble about being close and helping him out when he was younger, until he drops the subject and they are silent for several moments before she takes his hand and traces his fingers with hers, clasping them together. (It's not that he couldn't find out the answers to all his questions, small towns are notorious for a reason. But he hates to invade her privacy when she so clearly does not want to share.)

So when Ruby returns, he says nothing off Emma, and tosses back in return,"Wrong occupation, love. I don't steer the boat, I'm just along for the ride."

She smiles back, but he can tell that she hears the worry under his tone and the meaning of his words. She hesitates, he can tell, her eyes shifting towards the door where she knows Emma will enter soon. She glances back towards him and says gently, "Give her some time."

(He doesn't see her that day. Or the next day, and the one after that.)

Later in the week, he hears whispers around the docks about the mayor's kid. How he's been in the hospital for the past two weeks and how it's bad and just like before. And he knows, with sudden clarity, that there's more to the story than Emma has shared. When he's seen her across town - walking briskly along main street, patrolling town in the department's vehicle, having brief and heated moments speaking with Dr. Hopper - she's distracted and rushed. She sometimes waves, but more often than not she gives him a brief nod and continues on her way.

He finds himself buzzing her apartment, the night air still cold enough that his breath expels puffs of air around his face, and he wonders if this is a good idea. (He doesn't know what to do. They are so new, so tentative, they could be so easily crushed in the face of this. Whatever this is. Until Ruby urges him to go her.)

When she finally answers and allows him into her apartment, he can see why. Emma's a mess. Her apartment (though he's never seen it before) is a disaster of clothes strewn about haphazardly and take-out boxes scattered across the main room. But it's her eyes that worry him, red rimmed and watery, she tries to smile at him, but her lips quiver and it's suddenly urgent that he pull her towards him, wrapping his arms around her.

(In the moment, answers mean nothing as he feels her body sigh into his, relaxing inch by inch as his hands stroke along her back, and he hums in her ear, soothing noises, murmuring nonsense words that she'd not hear anyway.)


End file.
